


for a love unsatisfied

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, me spritzing gabriel with Good Boy Juice: its ok hes nice now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 20:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20699321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: the execution scene, played out differently (aka an au where gabriel isn't a complete dick, and crowley's confused the whole time)





	for a love unsatisfied

**Author's Note:**

> hi one sided gabriphale makes me weep??? and i want a crowley/gabe friendship thanks bye

Moving in Aziraphale’s body was not something that came easily to Crowley. Any difficulties he might have faced on his own were particularly heightened by the accompanying presence of tightly-bound rope wrapped around his wrists, strapping him down to his chair. He struggles not to squirm nervously under the intense gaze of the vengeful archangels. After all, surely, Aziraphale wouldn’t squirm. He wouldn’t back away from this. 

He was brave, braver than the whole rest of Heaven’s judgmental residents. Even if they couldn’t recognize it, he had something they would only ever dream of pursuing. A proper purpose; a thing driving him forward, keeping him going. Protecting the Earth, himself, _Crowley_\--those were all real, tangible motivators. Not whatever the other angels had, always comforting themselves with half-hearted notions that any crime committed was a crime in God’s name. 

“Aziraphale,” a low, rich voice echoes through the room. Crowley recognizes it instantly. The last time he’d been so dearly acquainted with it may have been multiple centuries ago, but even so, it was unmistakable in its tone and inflections.

“Gabriel.” he replies, cold and monotonous. There’s a heavy, empty pause. The silence takes on a form of its own, somehow feeling more foreboding, more dangerous than any words could have been. Crowley shivers. He doesn’t like this.

“Are you cold?” Gabriel asks, stepping forwards. He’s close enough Crowley can practically hear his breathing from where he stands behind him. That’s odd. He doesn’t need to breathe. And he hasn’t familiarized himself with human habits like Aziraphale has.

“Why are you asking?”

Another pause. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I had no idea they’d ever consider stooping this low.” After a solid forty seconds, Gabriel finally answers. Crowley’s chest tightens, breath hitching. _What does he mean by that?_

“Here, let me just--”

The ropes come undone effortlessly, miracled untied. Gabriel moves to face Crowley--or rather, face the person he thinks is Aziraphale. His expression is somehow both completely unreadable, and absolutely radiating five different emotions at once. A solemn, bursting at the seams, just barely kept together sort of sadness. He looks like he’s about to start crying any second now. Crowley prays he doesn’t, he isn’t sure he can handle that.

The archangel’s face twists inexplicably further. He’s just remembered something, Crowley can tell.

“I didn’t tell anyone, I promise. Michael started digging around, and I couldn’t stop her without drawing more suspicion towards you.” he bursts out, a pathetic attempt at reassurance, given the current context. 

“I have a plan, though.”

“Oh?” Crowley tries his hardest to not sound embittered. It’s difficult, considering he’s spent the last couple millennia assuming Gabriel to be some sort of wicked tyrant, ruling over his angel, bossing him around.

“You’re definitely going to hate me for this, I’m sure. But it’s the only option we have, and I am _not_ letting you die today.” Gabriel says, his voice slowly drifting into a hardly audible mutter over the course of his speaking. He leans down, cupping Crowley’s--no, Aziraphale’s--face in his hands. They’re unbearably close, painfully intimate. Crowley’s about two seconds away from bursting into flames without the slightest need for help from any hellfire.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, unsure of himself. Gabriel smiles. It’s a _gentle_ smile, entirely unlike the goofy, plastered-on smirk Crowley’s only seen once before.

“Just trust me, sunshine.”

He tugs Aziraphale’s body closer, wraps his arms around him. Head resting on his shoulder, and hands clutching at Aziraphale’s overcoat so tightly they trembled with the strength of his grip.

“Run away, run away and don’t look back. I’ll deal with the aftermath of it all.” he whispers, so quiet, yet so despicably loud in the otherwise silent room. It’s like every word pierces the air, slicing away at more and more of Heaven’s cruel disposition. Crowley doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Gabriel hurries to console him, wiping away any errant tears with his thumb. Why _is_ he crying? Has his brain already caught onto something he hasn’t? Is it reacting in turn to whatever the fuck is going on here?

“Sh, sh, it’s okay. I’ll be alright. They can’t hurt me too much, you know. I’m an Archangel. They won’t kill me.” Gabriel says. “I already know my fate.”

“_Gabriel,_” Crowley gasps, choking back another sniffle. “you can’t possibly mean--”

“Don’t think about it, okay?” Gabriel says, some of his confidence starting to renew. “I’m willing to do anything if it means you’ll be out of harm’s way.”

He lets go of Aziraphale’s body then, gives Crowley a moment to breathe, process everything that’s happening. There’s a clambering sound of footsteps approaching, and Crowley knows they don’t have much time, he has to get out of here _now_. Gabriel helps him to his feet, standing on shaky, unbalanced legs.

“By the way, if you don’t mind, sunshine, next time you’re dining with your demon friend, d’you think you could save a table for three? I’d like to finally meet him, you know.” he chuckles, a completely sincere, genuine laugh. Crowley nods before he can stop himself, this vessel that doesn’t even belong to him moving of its own volition. 

“Thanks. I’ll be seeing you soon, then. Good luck!” 

The flight back home feels an awful lot like something Crowley doesn’t want to be reminded of. The sky starts to blacken around him, turning dark and turbulent, wild with thunder. He’s tempted, for a minute or so, to turn right around and snatch Gabriel from the holy jaws he’s so willingly laid himself in. But the archangel had said it himself; no looking back. Not now, not ever. 

He obeys the instructions because there’s nothing else he can do, not really. Accepting the mercy of another is an act of defiance in of itself from Heaven’s moral standpoint. All he can manage with for now is looking after himself and his angel, keeping the both of them safe. He’s more than happy to do that, especially knowing his eyes aren’t the only pair watching over Aziraphale. They’ll be okay, he’s sure. Somehow, this’ll all turn out okay in the end.

By the time the sun sets, Heaven’s a little emptier than it was just one hour previous. Traitors are to be made examples of, after all. Though some observing demons, who’d been earnest to welcome another into their diabolical hordes, standing at the gates of Hell, might have noted that the former archangel didn’t particularly _fall._ Rather, by some demonic--or, potentially, _angelic_\--intervention, he seemed to be gently floating downwards. The ground is soft when he hits it. Softer than it had ever been before.

And as he starts to sit up, wiping the sweat from his brow, and obviously resisting the urge to curl in on himself, there’s a glint of gratitude in his eyes. If the demons had bothered to listen, they would have heard him speaking. Two brief syllables, that seemed to light up his weary face with something warm.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this over the course of an hour and cried the whole time


End file.
